


Professor Sick-a-more

by Kat_Lovegood



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Also bad pun, Azran Legacy, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Eternal Diva Spoilers, Fluff, Gen, It started out cute and than I kinda got carried away, Last Specter Spoilers, Miracle Mask Spoilers, Sickfic, also maybe a bit of the Feels...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-31 19:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18597865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Lovegood/pseuds/Kat_Lovegood
Summary: During their travels with the Bostonius, Desmond catches a cold while repairing the ship during a storm and his companions try to take care of him...Mostly fluff, though later chapters might contain nightmares, repressed memories and dramatic inner monologues.(Updates on Thursday.)





	1. Rain and Repairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnaScrawls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaScrawls/gifts), [Yoshi_G_teh_First](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoshi_G_teh_First/gifts).



> Dear reader,
> 
> please note that this is my first fanfiction and it is written in a language I am not a native speaker of, so I would really appreciate it if you would tell me about any grave mistakes Grammarly might not have found or formatting errors I made. Of course, other comments are appreciated as well :)
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this little story, it was inspired both by "Just Stay Down", a wonderful sickfic by Yoshi_G_teh_First in which Layton suffers from shingles, and "Spectral", a beautiful piece by AnaScrawls giving us character insights during Azran legacy I wish were included in the actual game. 
> 
> You should really check them out, though I did not label them as Parent-Works as they have little to do with my actual plot...
> 
> Now, without further ado, have fun with the first chapter!

**BANG.**

 

The lights went out, but just for a moment.

 

**BOOM.**

 

Another thunder in the distance.

„Master, it seems we have been hit. The motor is failing, an urgent repair seems necessary. Could you - “ Raymond exclaimed while hurriedly making his way towards the engine room. Desmond rushed over to the console and firmly grabbed the wheel. „Alright, I have got this. Everyone, hold tight!“, he shouted as he pulled some leavers and swiftly turned the wheel around.

 

The ship shook. Aurora fell down to the floor, Emmy got pushed against the wall and Professor Layton grabbed Luke as he held onto the sofa they were sitting on. The lights flickered again, and as they lit up permanently once more, the Bostonius was swimming in the Atlantic, somewhere between Greenland and Iceland, in the middle of a lightning storm.

 

„Is everyone alright?“, Professor Layton asked as he stood up and wanted to adjust his tophat, before realising that he was only dressed in his pyjamas. The storm had caught up with them in the late evening, the children had been already asleep and he had intended to go to bed as well. But now they were all wide awake.

 

„Yes, Professor!“, Emmy exclaimed as she got back on her feet. „I'm fine“, Aurora answered from the floor. „Me too!“, Luke said as he finally loosened his grip on Professor Layton's arm. Sycamore, who was already checking the ship for possible damage, replied that he was unharmed, but he could not say so about the Bostonius.

 

„It seems as if the main propeller has been damaged by the lightning stroke. The cables must have burned through, and those run through the casing all around the outside of the ship...“. He mumbled as he went to look for Raymond in the engine room. When the two of them came back a few minutes later, Layton and Emmy were doing their best to reassure Luke and Aurora that everything was fine, even though the ship was being shaken by the rather high waves.

 

„But what if the engine is broken so badly that we can not get back on land? Can the Bostonius stay on the ocean for long?“, Luke asked anxiously. „Now, now“, Raymond replied, „No need to worry, young Master. The engine is already repaired.“ „So we can continue our journey?“, Emmy wanted to know. „Well, the only thing inside that's been damaged was the fuel pipe, but the outside of the airship was a little more unfortunate. As I already said, the electric parts of the propeller have probably been burned, and we can not fix them from in here...“, Professor Sycamore answered.

 

„Professor, surely you do not want to imply that you intend to go out there and repair them now?“, Layton replied. „Well, I do not see another solution to the current problem at hand. We can not just stay here, risking further damage by the waves. It will only take me a few hours at most“, the other Professor answered. „Then we should start with the repairs right now, Master“, Raymond said, but Sycamore told him that he would rather do this alone. „There is hardly enough space for two people around the area, and besides, you should get some rest, as you will have to fly us out of this storm when I am finished.“ He had already made his way to the wardrobe on the hallway, grabbing his raincoat, a pair of gloves and a flashlamp as well as a toolkit.

 

„But, Professor Sycamore, will you even be able to see with the storm and all? This does seem very dangerous“, Aurora remarked worriedly, and Sycamore gave her a reassuring smile. „I have constructed this ship myself, I know where everything is. Don't worry about me. You all should better try to get some sleep as well, it is already late. I bid you goodnight.“ And with that, he made his way to the door and out into the stormy, rainy night.

 

* * *

 

 

Desmond could not feel the cold air of the night as he reassembled cogs, carefully exchanged sweltered cables, reconnected wires. He did not notice the pounding of the waves against the metal of the ship, the roaring storm, the rain that whipped against his glasses. He only had eyes for the tools in his hands and the wires in front of his eyes, the one thing on his mind was the task at hand. He strangely liked this, losing himself in his work, getting his mind off of all other worries. No one he had to deceive, not even himself, just the cold, hard metal of the ship. Repairing, inventing, creating. It gave him control. It made him feel alive.

 

But once he was finished, once he opened the door to the Bostonius, his mind registered that he was soaked in rain and saltwater from the ocean, that he had been shivering in the cold for at least two or three hours, probably more like four. He realised that his body ached from the work and the cold air and that he was terribly exhausted. The lights were still on, blinding him at first, but once his eyes had adjusted he saw Emmy, Layton and Raymond fast asleep on the big sofas in the middle of the room. It was a peaceful image, albeit it only lasted for a mere moment. As soon as they heard the sound of the door being slammed shut by the wind, his companions shot up from their dreams.

 

„Oh, Professor! You are soaked!“, Emmy exclaimed as she grabbed a towel from the table and hastily made her way to Sycamore to help him out of his coat. „Thank you, Emmy, but it is fine, really. And the repairs have gone well, too. You should be able to start the machines now, Raymond“, the Professor said as he took the towel and dried off his hair and glasses, as he could barely see through them in the light. „Aye, Master.“, the Butler replied, going off for a final check of the engine room.

 

„Emmy is right, you must be freezing. Let me go and get you some nice, hot tea to warm you up“, Layton said and followed Raymond down the corridor to get some hot water. „Thank you“, Sycamore replied, before suddenly turning around and sneezing into his soaked sleeve. "He-Hetchew!" „Bless you! You better get changed into something dry before you catch a cold!“, Emmy said, less jokingly than actually worried, and Professor Sycamore, now truly exhausted, thanked her before complying and wandering off towards his cabin on the lower deck.

 

When Raymond came in, Desmond was already fast asleep, his long, now loose and still damp hair hanging down from the small but comfortable bed. The old Scotsman smiled as he pulled up the blanket over the man he had seen go through so much more than he could bear. He took a moment to turn the alarm, set for early morning, off, as it was almost 4 am already. And after all the exertion he had today, his Master would need more than three hours of sleep, even if he would not be too happy about it.

 

„Goodnight, Des“, Raymond said as he quietly shut the door, taking the tea with him to the pilot seat, before he set off to fly the Bostonius to the next safe haven and finally went to sleep again himself. And when the first light of the morning sun touched the airship as some lonely Icelandic fishermen rowed past it, everyone on board was fast asleep.


	2. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond does not want to admit that he is feeling unwell, but there are only so many things one can hide...

When Luke and the Professor entered the main room of the Bostonius the next morning, they were surprised by the view of the small, colourful port with its typically Nordic buildings. Well, the Professor was, at least, as Luke mostly concentrated on the - still empty - table in the middle of the room.

  


„No breakfast?“, he exclaimed with a tone of dismay in his voice, just when his stomach began to grumble. „See, Luke, Raymond and Professor Sycamore have been up all night. I am sure they are still asleep and it would be not very gentlemanly to wake them now, would it? So it looks like we have to make breakfast ourselves for once.“, Emmy said as she entered with Aurora following her. But as she turned around to go to the kitchen, she almost bumped into Raymond who was carrying a tray full of plates and cups.

  


„I do not think that will be necessary, Miss Emmy, though I do greatly appreciate your offer“, he said as he put them down. „Well, we can at least help you to set the table“, she responded. „It would not be fair to let you and the Professor do all the work on board. Especially not after the night you had.“ „Yes, it must have been quite tiring“, Layton agreed as he took the larger plates from Raymond and put them up on the table. With everyone helping, the table was set in no time.

  


„Mhh...“, Luke exclaimed as he smelled the freshly fried bacon on his plate. His mouth was watering and he already wanted to put some bacon in his mouth, but Emmy looked at him in a certain way that made him forget about the food for a moment. „What is it?“, he asked, a tad bit surprised. „Don't you think someone is still missing?“, she responded. „Oh, Professor Sycamore is not here“, Aurora said as she put her glass with orange juice down.

  


„Maybe he did not hear his alarm and overslept. Not surprising, given the circumstances“, Layton responded. „Oh, it is only me who is to blame“, Raymond said. „I turned his alarm off because he always sets it very early so he can tend to his studies for a few hours in the morning, even before breakfast. But I thought it wise to let him sleep in a bit today and forgot to wake him now for breakfast“, he told the group before he got up and went down the corridor to wake his master.

  


Due to the construction of the ship, the lower cabins were not equipped with any windows, and so Sycamore's cabin lay completely in the dark as Raymond entered. „Master, excuse me, but it is time for breakfast. Forgive me for letting you sleep so long, but the others are already waiting for you“, he apologized as he turned on the light. Desmond shut up in his bed at once to look at his alarm clock.

  


„It's this late alrea- ahh – heetchew!“ He ended the sentence with a sneeze, followed by two more. „Bless you“, Raymond answered, as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and gave it to his master. „Thank you, Raymond“, Sycamore answered as he reached for the white cloth to quickly wipe his runny nose. His butler frowned and internally sighed at the tone of his voice – it was definitely hoarse and slightly stuffy as well. „Are you alright, Master?“, he asked.

  


Desmond recognised the worried look in his eyes at once. For a moment he debated to answer truthfully, to tell the older man that he was cold and tired, that his head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and his throat as if it was on fire, to dramatically flap down on his bed again and stay there in solitude for the rest of the day. But then again he was a man on a mission, his goal almost in reach. He would not let a little cold stop him now, and besides, he did not want to embarrass himself in front of Layton and his companions like this. And then there was also another reason why he dreaded to go back to sleep…

  


„I am fine“, he replied and cleared his throat. „ I will be up in a minute.“ Raymond, who had followed Desmond's thought process just by closely looking at him, only bowed and closed the door after leaving his room. He sighed again, loudly now. _This was going to be a long day._

  


* * *

  


  


When Desmond sat down at the large wooden table in the main room but five minutes later, he was fully dressed and his hair was orderly combed in its usual style. But even the red-rimmed glasses could not fully hide the dark circles under his eyes. He quickly wished everyone a good morning, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible. Raymond had already filled his plate, thankfully only with a buttered toast and some orange slices. He took a small bite of the former, as he was not feeling particularly hungry. But his aching throat basically yearned for something hot to sooth it, so Desmond took a large sip from his already filled teacup. When it tasted nothing like Earl Grey, the first thought that came into his mind was that it was his stuffy nose that changed the perception of the aroma, but then he realised that Raymond had given him Camille tea with honey instead of his preferred blend.

  


A knowing smile from the old Scotsman, who currently had Keats sitting on his lap, confirmed this hypothesis. But while the hot brew indeed soothed his throat, its steam also caused his nose to run embarrassingly low. And, in a desperate effort to hide his current state from his guests, Desmond deliberately let his spoon slip under the table, only to have a chance at wiping his nose while getting it back. Emmy, who noticed this, got a bit suspicious of his sudden clumsiness.

  


„Professor Sycamore, are you feeling quite well?“, she asked him as he sat back down at the table. Desmonds face flushed a bit, but he overplayed it by adjusting his glasses and replying: „Yes, quite. Just a little tired from the strains of the last night, that is all. Speaking of which, Raymond, has the Bostonius made any problems on the flight to this port?“, he tried to change the topic of the conversation. „Well, the engines and the propeller seem to be in prime condition, but the navigation system appears to have taken a blow from the lightning stroke“, his butler replied.

  


„Oh, how unfortunate.“, Desmond said. „ I better get the plans out and fix it right away, we do not want to get lost, do we? Meanwhile, you all can pay a visit to this beautiful little town and fill up our food supplies and also buy some new spare parts for the ship, in case we need to make urgent repairs again.“ He got up quickly and made his way to the little study, where he quietly stifled a sneeze before collapsing onto his comfy armchair. At least he did not have to worry about Layton and his friends disturbing him for the next few hours…

  


* * *

  


  


It was a beautiful, sunny day out in the coastal town, even though one could still feel the cold that came with the Nordic climate. The group quickly found a shop that sold all kinds of mechanical devices, and even though they were intended to be used on ships or cars or the like, Raymond could get almost everything he needed for the Bostonius. He also went to a small shop that sold electrical equipment, and Aurora was fascinated by the modern technology, as it differed wildly from what she could still remember of the means that her own civilisation had used. Raymond even bought some lights, switches and wires the children could later experiment with, as they seemed to get bored quite easily during the longer flights of their journey.

  


Luke, however, was even more enthusiastic about the food that was next on their list. He curiously looked through the specialities on the market and trying out Skyr, a local speciality. They decided to buy some, along with freshly caught fish for dinner, vegetables and fruits. Layton was fascinated when he was told about how the local farmers heated their greenhouses with the hot water from the geysers. Time passed by quickly, and the children were almost sad when the grownups led them back to the ship to prepare lunch, though the promise of a good meal excited Luke as well.

  


„So, what are we gonna have, Raymond? Are you going to make your special sandwiches again?“, he asked the old butler. Raymond chuckled a bit. „I am glad you like them so much, Master Luke, but I had planned to cook chicken broth today“, he replied. Luke looked disappointed, as soup never really satisfied his appetite. Professor Layton noticed this and told him that Raymond would surely make him sandwiches as well if he was still hungry after lunch. And Raymond agreed: " I assume I should prepare sandwiches for everyone else as well, as you must be rather hungry from our excursion this morning."

  


Aurora was a bit confused by this: „Why do you cook broth if it does not satisfy your hunger?“ Raymond rubbed his beard a bit sheepishly, but Emmy took her chance to answer the question for him. „It is for Professor Sycamore, isn‘t it, Raymond? Because he is feeling under the weather today.“ This, however, confused Aurora even more. „What does the weather have to do with soup?“, she wanted to know.

  


Professor Layton tried to explain it to her: „It is a figure of speech, Aurora, used when someone got a cold, a common disease in our age. If Emmy is right, Professor Sycamore must have caught one because he spent too much time in the cold rain while repairing the Bostonius last night.“ „Poor Professor Sycamore“, Luke added, „why didn‘t he say that he was not feeling well this morning?“

  


„I think my Master just did not want to concern you all. Besides, he does not like to be fussed over when he is sick, instead, he prefers it to simply get on with his tasks as usual.“ „That sounds like someone else I know,“ Emmy said with a quick glance over to Professor Layton. „But would it not be better for the Professor to rest if he is not feeling well?“, Aurora asked, now looking pretty worried. „I wish he would, but I am afraid the Professor can be incredibly stubborn if he wants to“, Raymond sighed. „So I can only make sure that he at least has some good tea and soup to help him recover.“

  


„We will see if we can‘t change that...“, Emmy mumbled to herself, as they finally reached the Bostonius. Emmy and Hershel put the newly bought supplies away in the proper cabinets, and Raymond – with the help of two busy assistants – quickly prepared some delicious looking stew. „Hmm, this smells rather good, Raymond“, Emmy remarked as she and Professor Layton peeked into the small kitchen. „Lunch will be ready in a moment“, Raymond answered. „Good, then I am going to set the table and you, Professor, can tell Professor Sycamore that his lunch is ready“, Emmy replied with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you already have the second chapter, as I thought that the first was a bit too short for a start... The whole thing is going to be 10,000 words apparently, which took me by surprise because I had not imagined writing such a long story for such a simple prompt, but well... Here you go!


	3. Under the Weather

When Hershel knocked on the wooden door of the little study on the upper deck, he was greeted with a hoarse „Come in“, from inside. He cautiously opened the door. „It is just going to take one moment“, Desmond mumbled as he carefully held his soldering iron over a circuit board. He really did sound ill, as Hershel could already hear the thick congestion in his voice. There was a big tissue box standing beside the monitor of the navigation system that was now opened up, with a few cogs and cables being displayed openly. And already more than a dozen tissues lay in the trashcan, next to some cut and burnt pieces of wire.

 

Yet the other man showed no sign of distraction by the ailment, as he seemed to be solely focused on his current task, carefully soldering a small wire down to a large circuit board with great precision. But he sighed as he finally put the iron down and immediately reached for a tissue. „I‘m sorry, it...“, he said as he turned around on his chair and he quickly jumped up in surprise. „Oh, Professor Layton! Forgive me, I thought you were Raymond...“ he stammered, visibly embarrassed.

 

„It‘s alright. I was just sent to tell you that we are going to have lunch in a minute“, Hershel answered. Desmond smiled tiredly. „Thank you, but I would like to finish this now if you do not mind, it is only going to take a few more minutes and, besides, I am not feeling very hungry.“ Normally Hershel would have politely accepted this excuse, but now he could see the exhaustion on the other mans face, the dark circles under his eyes that revealed that he had barely slept the last night, the flushed cheeks, his slightly glassy eyes and the distinctly pink tint of his nose. It was clear that he was feeling unwell, and it was Hershel's gentlemanly duty to change that.

 

„Are you sure? I am certain Raymond's homemade chicken soup would really help with your cold, Professor“, he tried. Sycamore looked startled for a moment and had already opened his mouth for an answer, but before he could say anything his breath started to hitch and he quickly buried his nose into the tissue he still held in his hands, turning away from Layton. "Ha-eschew! Hetcheew! Ah-ah..."

 

Hershel counted five progressively more forceful sneezes before Desmond sighed in relief as the fit seemed to have passed. „My word, bless you, Professor!“, Layton exclaimed, as Sycamore carefully wiped his now very red nose before adding the used tissue to the pile in the bin. „Thank you. Well, I can not deny feeling a bit under the weather now, can I?“, he replied dryly, and, as he saw the unhappy expression on the younger man‘s face, added „I‘m truly sorry you had to witness this, Professor. I must be a rather unsightly appearance.“ But Hershel smiled reassuringly at him.

 

„Of course not, Professor Sycamore. You are ill, it can not be helped. It‘s just, well, if you were a student of mine, I would probably send you home to get a good day's rest instead of continuing your studies...“ „Yet, if you were in my position, you would proceed to fulfil your duties anyway, wouldn‘t you?“, Desmond countered. Professor Layton laughed.

 

„Yes, I assume you are right. Though Emmy and Luke would hardly let me. The last time I had a cold, I barely made it through my morning lecture before Emmy threatened to tie me down on the sofa in my office if I did not let her drive me home to rest immediately. Though I must admit that I can understand her behaviour after... Well, the point is that I doubt she will show you more mercy if she sees you like this.“

 

Desmond sat back on his chair before responding. „That is just one more reason to finish this now. I only have to put the monitor back together, and then Raymond can put it up and connect it with the controls again. It won‘t take long, even though I must confess that my working speed is truly not at it‘s highest today...“, he sighed again, before sniffling a bit and rubbing his temples. „And then, I suppose, I have no other choice as to let you all fuss over me, do I?“, he said, defeatedly.

 

„I will tell them you will be ready in half an hour“, Professor Layton replied with a small, sympathetic grin before closing the door. Desmond grabbed another tissue, let out two wet sneezes and blew his nose properly this time before lying his throbbing head down on the table. The next few hours were certainly going to be fun, he thought.

 

* * *

 

By the time Hershel returned to the main room, the others were already sitting at the set table. „So, where is Professor Sycamore? You did tell him to come, didn't you, Professor?“, Emmy asked as she saw Hershel emerge from the study alone. „He was just finishing his work on the navigation system and said he only needs about half an hour to complete it, so he wanted us to start eating without him...“, Hershel told her, aware that his assistant was not pleased by that answer.

 

He knew that she was debating whether or not it was a good idea to personally carry Professor Sycamore out of his study, and, Hershel thought, she probably would if she knew how terrible he already looked, but to his relief, she said: „Well, then we should eat quickly. I have a few things I would like to prepare before the Professor is finished with his work.“ And with that, she put her spoon down into her bowl of soup.

 

„This tastes really good, Raymond“, Aurora said in an attempt to brighten up the mood. „Thank you, young lady. It is an old family recipe“, the old man replied. Luke was already holding out his bowl for a second serving, but Emmy‘s scolding look stopped him. „Don‘t you think you should leave some for Professor Sycamore? Raymond made it for him, after all“, she exclaimed. „But there is still so much left and it is so good!“, Luke argued. „I‘m sure he can have one more bowl, Emmy“, Professor Layton interfered.

 

„Fine, and then you can help Raymond with the dishes. He probably had a long night, too. Actually, I think we should give him the day off, don‘t you think, Professor?“ „Well, you certainly seem very busy, Raymond. If you would like, we could take over your chores for today, if Professor Sycamore won‘t mind, of course.“ „Oh, I‘m sure he won‘t! After all, we are going to take great care of our patient, won‘t we, doctor Triton?“, Emmy exclaimed with a wink towards Luke.

 

Raymond, however, seemed torn between his duty as a butler and the fatigue that settled in now after he had eaten. „But, Miss Altava, you don‘t have to...“, he tried to interject, but once Emmy had an idea, she would stick to it. „No need to worry, Raymond, it will be fine. We are not going to fly the ship or anything. And I‘m sure you could use a short nap after the last night...“, she said as she led him downstairs. „Well, if you insist...“, the old butler said. „But be sure to wake me if my master requests my help...“ „Of course!“, Emmy answered, but she had already crossed her fingers behind her back.

 

* * *

 

 

A few minutes later, the table was cleaned, polished and empty besides a small tray with a bowl of soup, a glass of water and a can of freshly brewed Camille tea, as well as a cup, honey and a spoon. Luke and Aurora came through the door and put down a few pillows and blankets on one of the sofas. Hershel was following closely behind them, carrying a thermometer and some medicine from Raymonds well-equipped travel pharmacy. The last to come in was Emmy, who had a black, woollen scarf and a red, knitted jumper draped over her arm. Hershel looked a bit concerned as he saw this.

 

„Emmy, don‘t you think this is going a bit too far?“, he asked his assistant. „I‘m sure Professor Sycamore won‘t be happy to hear that you searched through his closet.“ „Well, then we better don‘t tell him. Let‘s just say that Raymond gave them to us, alright?“, she said with a grin before putting them down next to the blankets. „My mum always says that you should dress warmly when you have a cold“, Luke told Aurora. She had been very quiet since the morning, even more than usual. „Um, Luke, what exactly is a cold? I am worried about the Professor...“, she suddenly asked her friend. Luke was very surprised by this. „So you never had a cold, Aurora? In your whole life?“ „I don‘t know. I can not remember...“, she said, now with a sad look in her sea-blue eyes.

 

Professor Layton tried to reassure her. „Don‘t worry, it is not your fault, Aurora. And Professor Sycamore will be fine as well. A cold is usually harmless, though it can be pretty unpleasant and exhausting.“ „Is there a cure?“, the blonde girl asked. „I‘m afraid not“, came the raspy reply from down the hallway. „Oh, Professor Sycamore!“, Emmy exclaimed as he came into the room, carrying the now fully assembled monitor of the navigation system and putting it down next to the pilot seat. He then looked down to the others, a wary look in his eyes.

 

„What exactly are you doing?“, he asked, even though he could already guess the answer, as he came back down the stairs. „Well, isn‘t it obvious?“, Emmy smiled. „We are going to take care of you today! Now, lie down and put off your tie and jacket, you should really wear something more comfortable, at least when you are sick.“ „Emmy, this is really not necessary. I‘m just a bit under the weather, nothing seri-aah—Achoo! Ah-Achoo!“

 

He ended his sentence by sneezing forcefully into his white linen handkerchief, before blushing in embarrassment and thanking the others for their inevitable blessings. „Excuse me. Maybe you are right. I‘m feeling rather exhausted today...“ Emmy had already taken his jacket, and Professor Sycamore found himself taking off his tie as well. He really did not have the energy to put up a fight, and he knew that he could not win against Miss Altava anyway. And somehow he actually… appreciated this. Being looked after, cared for.

 

He would never admit to it, of course. But it reminded him of the days when he had people who had promised to always look after him, and who would not hesitate to force him into his luck, but… Desmond's thoughts trailed off for a moment, and he was almost grateful when a cold hand on his forehead stopped him from drifting deeper into his memories. To his surprise, it was Luke‘s.

 

„Professor, you feel a bit warm. Please let us check if you have a fever. Say ah!“, he demanded, and as soon as Desmond opened his mouth to respond, Emmy quickly put the thermometer inside. Aurora watched curiously. „Shouldn‘t he be cold if he is suffering from, umm, a cold?“, she asked, holding her folded hands over her chest. „No, when people have colds, they often get a higher temperature than usual or even a fever“, Luke told her. „My dad says it is to fight the germs that make you ill.“ Aurora smiled and nodded as she understood.

 

„So we have to keep the Professor as warm as possible?“, she asked. Hershel agreed. „That is the idea, Aurora.“ The girl nodded and put one of the blankets beside her over Desmond's shoulders, who now blushed even more, but could not say anything as he still had the thermometer in his mouth. Fortunately, Emmy soon released him from it. „Mhh, 100.6. Not too high, but already a fever. So, how are you feeling, Professor? And don‘t say you are fine, because I can tell just by looking at you that you clearly aren‘t“, she said. Desmond sighed.

 

„Alright, Dr Altava. Well, let's see, I‘m chilled, in spite of my high body temperature, I‘m feeling exhausted, my head is throbbing, I have a sore throat, my nasal passages are very much congested, a-ah-Hetcheew! Excuse me. And the irritation causes me to constantly sneeze. In conclusion, you were right, I seem to have caught a pretty nasty head-cold and I should probably lie down and drink tea for the remainder of the day. Are you happy now?“, he finished, with a scowl, arms crossed over his chest. Emmy smiled sympathetically at him as she handed him a tissue.

 

„Of course I‘m not happy that you are feeling miserable, but yes, I am glad that you decided to finally admit it and rest instead of running around and making your cold even worse! Really, you Professors can be so stubborn sometimes...“, she said and looked over at Professor Layton again.

 

„Well, I did warn you“, Hershel muttered somewhat sheepishly, and suddenly Professor Sycamores expression softened and he even started to chuckle a bit. „Yes, indeed, you did“, he said and stopped himself, as his throat did not take too well to laughing and he did not agree with being, what exactly? Happy? The slight fever must be already messing with his head…


	4. Rest and Recuperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go with the 4th chapter. As you see, I did update last week as well, but unfortunately, I apparently set the publication date wrong. Well, if you missed the last chapter, you can go read it now ;)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like how the story progresses, even - or maybe especially - as I have some more emotional content in this chapter...
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please consider leaving a comment to help me improve my writing. Have fun!

Sometime later, Desmond had finished a bowl of Raymond's splendid chicken soup, was wrapped up nicely into the scarf and his favourite jumper – the one that his wife had knitted herself as a Christmas gift, about six or seven years ago, and his daughter had laughed and said it was much too big for him, but he loved it anyway – as well as several blankets. The others had told him that they - or rather Emmy - had given Raymond the day off and that he was taking a nap at the moment, which Desmond thought he truly deserved after their long and exhausting night. Professor Layton had gone to the kitchen to do the dishes and start preparing dinner.

 

Aurora had asked Desmond if he did not want to go to bed as well, but he had told her that he did not feel tired yet. He was lying, of course, to be perfectly honest he might have not been this sleepy in months, but he was too afraid to go to sleep now. Afraid of the nightmares that would creep up upon him whenever he slept, but as fever dreams, they were thousand times more vivid. He had not been this sick since Targent had taken his family the second time, yet he still recalled the nights when he relived the day his childhood was shattered. But the medicine that Emmy had given him, with a spoon full of sugar, because Luke had insisted, started to make him drowsy and he could not quite concentrate on the novel he was reading. And then there was his nose that was still bothering him, forcing him to either quietly blow it or at least sniffle constantly and itching so badly that he inevitably had to sneeze every couple of minutes.

 

„Achoo. Ah..achoo!“ „Bless you“, Luke said for probably the fiftieth time or so, as he held out a fresh tissue for Sycamore. „Thank you, but you should quit saying that, Luke, as much as I value the gesture, it does become rather tiresome.“ „But a true gentleman always blesses people when they sneeze! It is a rule!“, the boy replied. „Who made this rule?“, Aurora asked curiously. "Em, I do not really know, but adults always tell you to do it...", Luke answered defensively.

 

„People came up with it a long time ago, as they believed that one's soul would leave ones body through a sneeze“, Sycamore explained to her. As soon as he noticed the horrified look on the girl's faces, he added: „But that is just a myth, of course.“ Aurora looked relieved. „You really do know a lot of things, Professor“, she said with a small smile. „Well, he certainly reads a lot, even if it is the same page over and over again“, Emmy remarked with a smirk, and Desmond blushed promptly. Indeed, he had read the last paragraph at least two times before, but every time he sneezed he lost track… of course he would not say this out loud, though.

 

„Maybe I can read it out for you? My mum always reads to me when I am ill or cannot sleep...“, Luke offered. „I appreciate the thought, but I‘m afraid I‘m a bit too old for this“, Desmond replied politely, before suddenly turning his head and sneezing no less than seven times into his tissue. „‘Scuse me...“, he muttered when he was finally done with the fit, as the others were now staring at him. He immediately regretted asking Luke to stop blessing him, as the sudden awkward silence made him feel rather uncomfortable.

 

„Are you alright, Professor Sneeze-a-more?“, Emmy asked with feigned worry. Desmond just glared at her, blowing his dripping nose as quietly as possible. Emmy laughed. „It seems you are really not in the mood for jokes today, are you?“, she teased.

 

Desmond let himself fall down on the sofa rather dramatically and pulled a blanket over his face in response. A little childish, perhaps, but the combination of the medicine and the illness made him loopy and he was unable to come up with an intelligent reply to this abomination of a pun. Emmy put a hand on his shoulder. He shivered from the cold touch. „My word, you are really hot. You are not burning up, are you? Not that you are getting pneumonia or something. You did spend an awful lot of time in that icy storm last night...“ The now genuine concern in her voice touched him, somehow. He sat up again and even managed to give her a reassuring smile.

 

„Emmy, as sick as I currently am, I can assure you, it‘s definitely not pneumonia. If it was, I would be feeling way worse.“ „How would you know?“, she asked, worry still clearly present in her eyes. „Because I had it once as a child. I remember it well. The lake near our house had frozen over, and reckless as I was, I wanted to explore it. I must have been seven at the time, and I got a bit too close to the spot where the ducks had managed to prevent the water from freezing over...“, he began to narrate but stopped himself as he realised what he was doing, telling them stories about his childhood. Next, he would probably tell them about Theodore… But it was too late.

 

„Did you fall in?“, Luke asked as Desmond had aroused his interest. „Indeed, I did. My… my father had to pull me out. I don‘t quite remember that part, I must have gone into hypothermic shock, but he carried me all the way back to the house. I already had a cough when I went out to play, and it got way worse that night. I‘d never been this ill before in my life, and I was really afraid I might have to die. Though luckily, our village had a very good doctor, and about a week and a half later I had fully recovered“, he finished.

 

„I bet your parents were really worried about you!“, Luke exclaimed. Desmond did not respond immediately, but Aurora noticed the shimmer of sadness in his glassy eyes. „Yes, they were...“, he mumbled, and the room was filled with an awkward silence once more. Aurora tried to change this: „Luke, Professor Sycamore may be too old for it, but would you read a story to me?“, she asked. „Of course, Aurora. I am actually really good at reading, at least that's what my teacher says!“, the boy replied enthusiastically as he picked up a book from the table. „These are the stories of Sherlock Holmes. He was a great detective and had all sorts of adventures. For example „The Adventure of the yellow face“...“ , he said as he began with the story.

 

* * *

 

 

Desmond tried to listen, but he already knew the plot, and his eyelids were so heavy… After a few pages, he had curled himself up in his blankets and was fast asleep, snoring a bit as he could not breathe through his stuffy nose. Keats had lied down at his feet, rubbing his head against the Professor's legs and purring softly. „And he said he was not tired...“, Emmy commented while shaking her head as she pulled up the blankets to cover his lean body properly. She also removed his glasses, because he was still wearing them, and put them on the table. Professor Sycamore looked strange without them, younger somehow. And a bit sad.

 

„Come on, Aurora, I‘m going to read the rest of the story downstairs, we should let the poor Professor sleep“, Luke said as he got up and led Aurora down to the cabin he shared with Profesor Layton. Emmy stayed and continued reading her adventure novel. A short while later, Raymond came up and joined her, handing her a cup of tea. At least he had brought one for himself as well, Emmy noted. „Raymond? How long have you known Professor Sycamore?“, she asked the old Scotsman. „It‘s been a long time, Miss. Why do you want to know?“, he replied, somewhat avoidantly. Emmy did not answer.

 

„He is quite the puzzle, isn‘t he? Paradoxical somehow. Just look at him now. He seems so young, but also so… tired, you know? Not just physically, like from the illness or something, but… as if he has seen too much. Yet normally, he is running around, reading, researching or repairing the ship, always restless from early morning until late at night. As if he could not bear to sleep.“ Raymond said nothing to this. But he knew that she was right. He watched his Master for a while, now tossing and turning in his sleep, whispering in his feverish dreams, almost whimpering.

 

„The nightmares again...“, Raymond said, more to himself than anything else, but Emmy heard him anyway. „Is that why he did not want to go to bed?“, she tried again. Raymond nodded. „He often gets awoken by bad dreams, but a fever makes them worse, he says...“, he slowly replied. Emmy smiled sympathetically. „When I was little, my aunt would sing to me whenever I had a bad dream. She died when I was only nine, but I still remember the song“, she said, and, out of the blue, started to sing: „Oyfn pripetshik brent a fayerl un in shtub iz heyz...“

 

Desmond seemed to calm down all of a sudden, his formerly tense muscles seemed to relax, his heavy breathing to steady once more. Raymond got up and put the blanket that had fallen to the ground over the sleeping Professor. „Sleep well, Des...“, he whispered as he tenderly stroked a streak of hair out of the younger man's face who now smiled in his sleep. He looked up again, only to see Professor Layton standing in the corridor, staring at the scene in front of him with empty eyes as if he was looking through them like ghosts. But as soon as Raymond looked up at him, Layton snapped back, slightly shaking his head, as if he had already lost the thought that had previously captured him, and walked towards the table.

 

„Dinner is almost ready...“, he said. „Then allow me to set the table. It is, after all, my duty as a butler, as nice as some time off can be“, Raymond responded swiftly and went down to the kitchen before either Hershel or Emmy could object. Emmy sighed. „Well, I think we have to wake our sneezy patient then. At least he has gotten some sleep...“ „Yes, even though he did not seem very eager to rest“, Hershel agreed, staring at the sleeping man, trying to remember something, even though he did not know what exactly it was. It had something to do with the melody he had just heard. It was strangely familiar, and he recognised its meaning even though he did not understand the words.

 

„You have quite a beautiful voice, Emmy“, he remarked. „Thank you, Professor“, she said, as she got up to wake Professor Sycamore. „Hmm, at least his temperature seems to have gone down. I thought he was burning up a few hours ago, but it seems he did not catch pneumonia again after all!“, she laughed. „Again?“, Hershel inquired. „Yes, he told us that fell into a freezing pond when he was a child, and his father had to pull him out...“, she began to tell the Professor, but Hershel barely listened to her words.

 

He could see it, right in front of his eyes, blurred somehow, but he could see it nonetheless. He could see a little boy, dripping with cold water, pale as the snow outside, being carried over the doorstep by a man he just knew to be his father. And a distinct feeling of fear arose in his chest, as the picture changed. The boy again, in a bed, covered in blankets, tossing in his sleep, his breathing terribly ragged. But it was not Desmond Sycamore he saw, no, there was another name, but he did not remember what it was. Yet, the boy looked so much like the man lying in front of him now, the same auburn hair, the same russet eyes, though closed now, and the boy was covered in sweat, his cheeks heavily flushed but otherwise white as a sheet.

 

„Please, please get better,“ he whispered as he took the boys hand. „Don‘t worry, Theo… m‘ here...“, came the sleepy reply, in a hoarse voice that seemed too deep for such a small child. And he sighed in relief, as the picture faded from his eyes and he almost immediately forgot what he had seen, surprised as he found himself kneeling in front of the sofa, Sycamores hand clenched tight in his own. „Who is Theo?“, Emmy asked, leaning down beside him. „He must still be dreaming...“, she said, and Layton got up again, not knowing what overcame him just now. „Yes, that must be it. Though it does seem like his temperature is quite normal now“, Hershel said, as if to justify why he had taken his hand, maybe more to himself than to his assistant.

 

Emmy took one of Sycamore‘s shoulders, shaking him slightly to wake him up. He did wake with a start, instinctively pulling back from her. „Emmy, what...“, he seemed confused, blinking a few times before his breath hitched once more and he buried his face into his sleeve to cover the sneeze. „Bless you“, Hershel said, trying to shift the awkward atmosphere. „Thank you, Professor. My, it seems I did fall asleep after all...“, Sycamore laughed, almost nervously, as he rubbed his eyes and quickly reached for his glasses. „Well, at least my head is not throbbing anymore...“ „It is nice to hear you are feeling a bit better, Professor. I am really sorry to have woken you up, but dinner is ready, and I am sure you would like to try out Professor Layton's‘ attempt at fried salmon“, Emmy smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Soon enough the whole „crew“, as Luke liked to call them, of the Bostonius was sitting around the dinner table, their plates filled with fish, mashed potatoes and a selection of cooked vegetables. Although it did turn out that cooking was not really a talent that Professor Layton possessed. „Oh dear, it seems I have overdone it a bit with the seasoning, haven‘t I?“, he asked after his first bite. The others had been too polite to remark upon it before that, but now Luke nodded in response, before pushing the fish to the edge of his plate. Only Sycamore, who was still too congested to taste much of anything, finished his whole portion, quite to Emmy‘s surprise.

 

„Seems like your appetite is coming back“, she smiled. „It certainly does. But it‘s not all that shocking, considering I only had a bowl of soup and a slice of toast all day“, he responded, before dabbing at his mouth and runny nose with a napkin as discretely as possible. It was in vain, however, as his nose tickled as soon as he touched it with the cloth, and he ended up sneezing for what felt to him like the thousandth time today. He blushed a bit and excused himself, and Emmy started to laugh – and soon the rest of the lot, even Layton himself, could hardly resist joining her. And Desmond smiled. He smiled a genuine, kind smile. It was gone in a moment, but at that second he felt comfortable and at ease in a way he had not felt since…

 

„Well, apparently you are not completely over your cold, after all, Professor“, Layton said, and Desmond nodded in agreement. „I would recommend a hot shower, a nice cup of tea, and an early night, Master“, Raymond remarked, and Desmond agreed because he was still feeling tired. So he wished everyone goodnight before retreating to the small bathroom downstairs.


	5. Doubts, Despair and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just Des reflecting upon his life and trying not to care...
> 
> Major Prequel-Trilogy Spoilers!

Half an hour later, Desmond laid spread out on his bed, in his pyjamas, his still slightly damp hair tied back loosely. He stared up at the ceiling, thoughts passing through his mind restlessly.

 

He liked them. Layton, Luke, Emmy and Aurora. They had actually cared about him today and he started to care about them, too. To enjoy their company. It was foolish, he was very aware of that. The only reason he had invited them was so that they would help him with his plan, he had intended to use them, nothing more. Or had he? He could have easily freed Aurora from her icy cave on his own, and yet he had chosen not to, even if that meant staying in said frozen cavern for days, with Targent agents lurking in the town, spying on him. Yet, he had made the additional effort to ask him for help.

 

Him. Hershel Layton, his… what? His nemesis? His arch-enemy? Surely this was how Layton saw his relationship with him, with Jean Descole, the masked scientist. But he did not hate him now, did he? No, he did not loathe Hershel Layton himself, he was merely annoyed by him, by his habit of constantly sticking his nose into places where it did not belong. How did he always manage to get in the way? Descole knew that Layton did not seek him out willingly either, but rather stumbled into his business by trying to help one or another old friend of his.

 

The threads tying them together, a tight spiderweb of connections to every major Azran legacy. Clark Triton, the only archaeologist in Misthallery, Janice Quatlane, the girl willing to sacrifice her life for a friend, and Randall Ascot, who was now known as the Masked Gentleman. It was just a cruel joke, the tragic irony that seemed to be the fabric of his whole miserable life. Whatever he did, it led to disaster, failure and dismay. Every choice he had made, all throughout his life – it always turned out to be the wrong one, setting in motion a series of unfortunate events that inevitably ended with his defeat.

 

He could feel the anger bubble up inside him, the ice-cold hatred that had poisoned his mind almost as long as he could remember. It was like a blinding, glistening flame. There were things he had done because of it that would have appalled the man he used to be five years ago. The man he was – no, pretended to be – now. He never meant to seriously harm anyone, but he had manipulated and lied to so many people, damaged them, emotionally at least, and, surprisingly, shockingly maybe, he had not cared.

 

He had tried to hurt, maybe even kill, his little brother. He had become the villain of the story, and he knew that this was the role he had to play, had chosen to play. He never claimed to be anything else, after all. It was simpler this way, as it allowed him to live without regret, to leave behind the pain he had gotten acquainted with at such a tender age, to become Jean Decole, Mr Hyde to the Dr Jekyll that was Desmond Sycamore, to feel no sadness, no pain, no fear - and no remorse. There was only anger, burning inside him, eliminating every other emotion in his heart.

 

He was filled with rage when Hershel Layton stood in his way – because he could not even protect his little brother from getting pulled into this, as hard as he had tried, as much as he had given up to do just this one thing right. So he tried to hurt him himself before Targent or the Azran could do it. It was irrational. But he had been angry. So very angry. Mad, even. Because every single time, Hershel Layton had ruined his plan. Yet he had also solved the puzzle. Was he jealous? Maybe. Definitely.

 

Layton, Hershel, Theodore – he understood nothing. He only aided Descole in his plans by solving these puzzles, as if they were nothing but a game to him. During those times, he presented himself as the great detective that Luke so admired in his books, yet he never took the time to delve deeper into the mysteries surrounding their encounters, had only ever read that standard work on the Azran civilisation. No, Layton understood nothing. He did not grasp why Descole did what he did, not even what he wanted to accomplish in the first place, and apparently, he did not care much about it either. He was not even aware of who he was, who he, who they used to be. He had simply forgotten him, banished his brother, his family from his mind with all the pain of that time. It hurt Desmond. It hurt him to be forgotten. Yet, some part of him wished he could have done likewise.

 

There was no one left in this world who knew who he was, who he used to be. Not even Raymond knew these things about him. So why should he himself remember? If everyone had forgotten, it would be as if it never happened, as if Hershel and Theodore Bronev had never existed in the first place. But, oh, there was him, the man he had called father once. He hated Leon Bronev after what he had done to him, he did not deserve that title anymore. His father was dead, for years now. He had passed away that day. He had died when they were killed by his accursed organization. When his hands became sullied in their blood, the blood of the most beautiful, charming, intelligent woman in the world, and the kindest, wittiest girl he had ever known. When he became responsible for the death of his family. His own flesh and blood. In truth, he had lost not one, but two families that fateful day. For it was the day he had lost his parents forever.

 

Because, until that day, he had secretly hoped to see them again, to find them, to free them even. He wondered whether he just wanted to avenge himself and his little brother all these years ago when he had first decided to find the Azran legacy before Targent did, or whether he had secretly always longed to have them back. He would not, could not admit this, of course. Descole did not care for anything but revenge, it did not matter if Hershel Bronev or Desmond Sycamore wanted their family back, he was not them. Not anymore. But, oh, he had loved them so much. And for years, he wanted nothing more than to be like his father, an archaeologist, and one of the kindest men he had ever known. Yet now, there was nothing left but hate, for his love had never brought him anything but pain. He had no mother, no wife and no daughter. He did not have a father. His brother had forgotten him. Hell, he did not even have a proper name. He had nothing, but pain and regret. The only thing that was left in his life was Raymond, and as fond, as he was of his butler, he could not replace all the people he missed so dearly.

 

Tears ran down his face. He was sad, and he was exhausted. And he hated himself for being so... so weak, for experiencing those feelings that would never lead to anything time and time again. Maybe that was why he decided to wear that mask, to come up with complicated plans to get his revenge, to set things up like a play, a game, a theatre performance of some sort, to alienate himself from the harsh reality of his life.

 

Deep down he knew it was pointless. But then, everything else he had done in his whole life had been pointless as well, as it seemed. He had been told he was talented, gifted they said when he was young, full of ideas and creativity. Back then that was what made him happy – inventing useful things, things to help people. A long, long time ago, that was what he used the name Jean Descole for. To make some money with his inventions back when they, and later he, needed it most. But now, all he brought was destruction. To the town of Misthallery, to Ambrosia, to Monte d‘Or. Raymond had once asked him if he did not feel sorry for all the people that he used, that he manipulated, that he hurt.

 

It was strange – they were like mirrors, in a way, all of them. And it was not as if he did not have any sort of empathy, as if he did not exactly know what they must experience. He knew what it felt like to be afraid of one's own father, to be young, and alone and isolated, to lose a child, to be threatened, to lose once dreams of love and archaeological success and live only for revenge. In a way, he had made them feel what he felt, all throughout his life. It did not last for them, anyway. Well, maybe it did for Oswald Whistler. That was ironic, again, as he had been the only one he had tried to help. To genuinely help, not just selfishly exploit. His daughter, Melina, had written the song he needed down before she had died, he knew he could just make a copy, but instead, he tried to save her. To play god. Not for himself, for Whistler. Another thing he could not admit it, of course.

 

Sometimes he wondered whether Layton had figured it out. He had seen the score in her room, and surely he must have wondered why all the other competitors in the little game of his were unsuitable for Melina‘s memories, apart from Amelia. The truth was that he had tried to raise Ambrosia a long time before, but it did not work. He knew it did not work. That was why he wanted to ask some of the smartest people in the country for help – without them noticing, sure enough. But somehow Layton had to show up and ruin it.

 

He hated him for that. For meddling in matters that he did not understand, for forgetting him, for being better than him – for showing him a life he could have had. Yes, he was jealous. His hatred was fueled by envy. But, somehow, somewhere, he also… cared for him. And that made his involvement all the more upsetting. He wanted it to stop. Just stop. All the pain and regret and sadness and anger. He was so, so tired of it. And yet, he did not want to give in. He wanted to do something, anything, to show this cruel, ironic joke of his entire existence that he could accomplish this one goal, his reason to live.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His thoughts were disturbed by a knock on the door. He quickly sat up and wiped his eyes, as he had somehow started to cry without even noticing it, and hoped it would not be noticed. Well, if it was, he could still blame this rotten cold of his. Desmond nervously cleared his throat. „Come in“, he said or rather croaked. To his surprise, it was Aurora who opened the door. She held a tray in her other hand, with a cup of tea, medicine and a thermometer on it.

 

„Did Emmy send you to make sure I‘m being a good patient and take my medicine?“, Desmond asked, half-jokingly. She nodded with a shy smirk. „Emmy, Raymond and the Professor are making plans for our departure tomorrow, so she asked me to look in on you. How are you feeling, Professor?“ „Better than this morning“, he said, trying his best to give her a reassuring smile. He felt silly and rather naked, exposed somehow, now only being dressed in his pyjamas. His glasses were lying on his nightstand, his hair was falling down in his face in slightly curled wisps.

 

„You should stop lying to yourself. It is not good. Don‘t deny how you feel. You do not have to be ashamed if you need help and comfort sometimes“, Aurora said. „It is only a cold, Aurora, nothing dramatic“, Desmond responded, but Aurora looked him deeply in the eyes. It was somehow both soothing and deeply unsettling at the same time. „That is not what I meant“, she answered reluctantly, before picking up the thermometer and handing it to Desmond. „Emmy said she wanted to know if your fever has gone, so I should tell her exactly what this says, and you have to leave it in for five minutes, no cheating“, she continued, and Desmond silently obeyed. He did not want to continue with this conversation.

 

Somehow, Aurora seemed to understand him, see right through him. And that made him, someone who had lived not one, but half a dozen lies over his life, really uncomfortable. Just the way she was looking at him as if she was staring deep down into his torn soul, was enough to make him nervously avoid her gaze. After a while, she took back the thermometer, which only read 98.6, and gave Desmond a spoon full of medicine. She also tasted a bit herself, wondering afterwards how he could drink something so bitter. He laughed, explaining that he only did it because an angry Emmy would be worse than the bitterness, and she laughed a little bit herself as well.

 

The tea that she had made, however, was still far too hot to drink, as Desmond burnt his tongue on the first sip. Aurora was strangely surprised by this. Desmond took and examined the hand she had touched the cup with, but the skin was perfectly intact, yet it still showed some small sign of sunburn from their time at San Grio. She was warm, as warm as a human, but she had no pulse. No sense of cold and hot. He sometimes wondered if she would eat or sleep if she was not told to.

 

„Do you have dreams, Aurora?“, he asked her, quite suddenly. „I… I think so. I sometimes dream about what the world used to be like. But when I wake up, I forget most about it. But I think it was nice, mostly anyways. What about you, Professor Sycamore. Do you dream?“, she wanted to know. But as soon as she saw the painful look in his eyes, she got up from his bed and walked to the door. Desmond thanked her with a smile, glad that she spared him from the answer. „Goodnight, Aurora“, he just said. „Goodnight, Professor. I hope you feel better. And sleep well,“ she responded before quietly shutting the door.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Desmond awoke at the usual time. And, to his delight, he actually felt much better. His throat had healed, his head did not feel heavy anymore, he was warm, but not too warm, and filled with restless energy. Only his nose was still a bit stuffy and he had to sneeze occasionally, but he could live, and more importantly work, with a mild case of the sniffles. By the time the others were up for breakfast, he had already done a full inspection of the ship. They would soon take off to make it to the alpine mountains by tomorrow, and their journey would continue, with the Azran legacy ahead of them and Targent on their heels.

 

A new adventure awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, my first fanfic on here is finished! I hope you like it, and I would be happy if you could take the time to leave a review of the whole thing so that I can improve my writing. I hope you liked this piece, and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Have a nice day ;)


End file.
